(i want you to) turn that cherry out
by Anastasia-G
Summary: "I would drink you every hour, by moonfall and sunrise, in the afternoons when you come home wearing this delectable little uniform. I would drag you from class and drink you right here by these lockers with the school bell ringing in our ears." (AU of TVD 3X21) Klaus gets a taste of Bonnie and wants more.


_**A/N:** To truly experience this oneshot, on a spiritual level so to speak, I recommend listening to "Blow" from BEYONCÉ :The Visual Album before or after reading. This was written after thefudge and I spent a whole day fangirling over the brief but sparkling Klonnie scenes in TVD 3X21, and after weeks of me and Chelle complaining about how Klaus would have never taken a casual sip of Bonnie's blood without at least a snarky comment. ANYWAY, enjoy and let me know your thoughts in the reviews!_

* * *

In hindsight, Bonnie realizes that letting a group of vampires drink her blood in order to forge a strategic link is not the smartest choice on her part no matter how extenuating the circumstances.

But she's a young witch involuntarily tasked with protecting her friends and their vampire boyfriends (sometimes _from_ their vampire boyfriends) and so, like always, she assembles her meager resources and forges ahead.

The cut is simple to make, her blood wells up at the wrist dark as a silent accusation. She smothers the thought of her Grams' disapproval, caps the vial, and hastens to the school.

Their reactions to sipping from the vial are predictable, all except for one of them (and there is never anything predictable about him). Damon wiggles an eyebrow and makes some suggestive remark about her milkshake bringing them all to the yard, while Stefan keeps his features schooled into contrition. Klaus though, Klaus swallows his share then glances down at the vial the way one would ascertain the label on a particularly fine bottle of whiskey.

He makes no comment, he doesn't need to, but she sees (he makes sure she sees) the black-gold flicker in his eyes. The monster, stirring, then swiftly leashed by a sure hand.

The others had openly displayed their nature. Klaus shows her what he's restraining.

She thinks, foolishly, that it's only a passing taunt, Klaus being Klaus and ruffling her feathers when they're not at each other's throats.

She learns different a week later when an iron grip takes hold of her on her way back from cheerleading practice. She's pressed cheek-first, none too gently, against the cold metal of the lockers. But she doesn't need to turn around to see her captor. Klaus lets his hand slide across her waist to lay flat against her stomach, pushing her subtly into his body. (Another taunt, reminding her just how close he is.)

She feels his nose trail up her neck to rest below her ear.

"You, little witch, are _wasted_ on that boy."

Bonnie tries to wriggle free - an utterly futile attempt of course, but it's the principle of the thing - and he chuckles. Clearly, he has no intention of letting her go until he's finished...whatever he came here to do.

"If you were mine," he continues in a voice like silk, "I would drink you every hour, by moonfall and sunrise, in the afternoons when you come home wearing this delectable little uniform. I would drag you from class and drink you right here by these lockers with the school bell ringing in our ears."

His hunger takes on a life of its own, she can feel it curling around her limbs like some silent, skulking beast. "Jeremy isn't a vampire," she grits out, "and I like it that way."

Again that soft, deep, mocking laugh runs down her spine. His other hand trails up her knee to pause below the hem of her tiny cheerleader skirt. "There's more than one way to drink you, love. Be sure to let the boy know."

And he's gone, just like that, causing her to stumble a little against the lockers.

* * *

Bonnie smothers the memory of that encounter as best she can in the coming weeks. She tells no one (what would be the point? They all had enough on their plate) least of all Jeremy.

Their romance is getting shakily back on track, compounded by the high levels of stress they're both under that drives them to seek what physical satisfaction they can through each other's bodies. She doesn't feel ready for a full-fledged physical relationship with him yet, and some days she still has a hard time believing it's truly her that Jeremy desires and not the ghosts of lovers past. Still, they are both scared and young in the face of a world that's bared its teeth, and so he fumbles with her breasts in the backseat of his car and she rubs him to completion through his jeans still and they tell themselves it tastes enough like love.

One night while her father is out of town on business she invites Jeremy up to her room. She's wound up from studying for finals and fending off the latest Salvatore-fuelled drama and she wants - she isn't sure what she wants.

(But that's not quite true)

Because when Jeremy starts feeling her up through her underwear she suggests he put his mouth there instead, and after some awkward questioning and adjustments, he complies.

He fumbles around down there too. His tongue is cold and takes, it seems to her, an inordinately long time to match the heat of her skin. She has to tell him where to go and what to do many times over before they finally settle on a rhythm that feels pleasant. Bonnie closes her eyes and starts rolling her hips, trying to clear her mind and focus on the sensation of his mouth, trying to capture the slow build of feelings that will propel her towards the orgasm she desperately craves.

 _I would drink you every hour, by moonfall and sunrise._

Her eyes fly open just as she hears Jeremy make a startled grunt. For the first time since they got started, she's wet.

"Don't stop," she whispers, taking hold of his hair and shoving his face between her legs before he has a chance to protest. His tongue flails around and ( to her frustration) he has to keep lifting his head to breathe. Still, she feels closer than she ever has and continues rocking her hips into his face.

 _I would drag you from class and drink you right here by these lockers with the school bell ringing in our ears_

She doesn't mean to think about _his_ words again, but she does. They're just so different from anything she's been told by Jeremy, or anyone else for that matter. There's an unabashed, languid quality to them she finds terribly fascinating, as though she really could skip class to have an orgasm in the hallway, come home from practice and get her cheerleader uniform even dirtier -

"Ah...!"

She comes in a quick, jerking series of movements. Jeremy withdraws his mouth entirely too soon. Says something about how "that's a lot" and presses clumsy kisses into her hipbone.

Bonnie, still a little breathless, stares up at her ceiling as her skin grows cold again. She sends Jeremy home, much to his confusion and disappointment, and takes a long shower.

* * *

She watches everyone's relief outweigh their surprise when, some weeks later, Klaus agrees to help them with their little problem and subdue the rogue vampire.

But she's right to suspect his benevolence, because he corners her outside the Salvatore house and names his price.

And Bonnie, who's flung her life as a shield before her friends numerous times, is faced with a demand that confounds her.

"Get rid of him first," she retorts with a boldness that somehow, always, recklessly surfaces in his presence.

He holds up his end of the bargain with such efficient swiftness she knows it's a challenge to her, a testing of her resolve.

So she holds up hers, showing up at his mansion late one night. He ushers her into the drawing room and closes the door. While he begins to pour himself a drink, Bonnie starts unbuttoning her cardigan and fiddling with the straps of her dress (it's an old blue dress with little yellow dots, a dress that seems to profane with innocence).

"Sit down, witch," he says dryly, sipping his drink. "There's no need for the 'trembling bride on her wedding night' routine."

Confused and wary, she takes a seat on the emerald green settee and avoids his eyes.

"Does dear Jeremy know you are here?" he asks at last, setting his glass down.

"That's none of your business."

"Ah, so he _doesn't_. How intriguing."

She glares. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Good. Neither do I."

The downside of rebutting a vampire is that they will always have the advantage of speed. Before she can blink, he's in front of her, on his knees, pulling her towards him by her thighs.

He doesn't bother undressing her, just reaches up and tugs her panties down her legs and places them on the couch beside her. (Their eyes meet and she thinks, once again, that she made some incontrovertible mistake when she bottled up a little bit of herself and placed it in his hands)

His tongue is warm.

* * *

Although, it feels like an eternity before she actually experiences said tongue. Because Klaus spends an inordinate amount of time just...breathing her in.

She'd squeezed her eyes shut and prayed none of the ancestral Bennett witches could see her splayed on Klaus Mikaelson's couch with her legs on his shoulders when she hears him take a deep breath. The exhale passes softly over her naked skin.

She squints open her eyes just as he drags in another lungful of her scent, the tip of his nose brushing her clit.

Her hips jerk a little. "What are you doing?"

His hooded eyes are lazy, molten gold, and she has the impression of some sleek yet dangerous predator stirring slowly from a daze of hunger.

"Get on with it," she says through gritted teeth. She means it to sound like a command, but he only continues revelling in the humid perfume between her thighs, grazing his stubble along the sensitive skin, humming low in his throat even though he is yet to taste her.

She hasn't really considered what she smells like to someone else. Part of her recoils in shock and fear at his blatant enjoyment. Another, smaller part stays fixated on the narcotic expression on his face.

He kisses her there, once, twice, three times. Each kiss longer and deeper than the other. She doesn't have to tell him, not in words, where to put his mouth next, how fast or slow to move his tongue. He anticipates and acts exactly as the words are rising to her lips, and the words melt like candy into softer, sweeter sounds.

She read a book once where a girl went swimming in the Mediterranean sea. She's never been anywhere near those warm, blue waters but she thinks maybe they came to her, flowing from her cunt with each pass of his mouth.

Bonnie grows vaguely aware that her thighs are slippery and squeezing his face between them, that one hand is stroking his hair the way a rider urges a horse.

Her pride, her fears, her principles have deserted her like dust in the wind. In their place is a strange, musky creature with a throaty and frantic language.

She wonders what he tasted in her blood all those weeks ago, what she let slip into the world when she gave him that vial.

Klaus sounds like a drowning man, who does not need breath save what is hot and humid between her legs. She can no longer understand the shapes and paths his tongue travels as he traces languages old and new, dead and alive, inside her and over her. Her last, tiny, triumphant thought before she comes in his mouth is that she's flood, flooded, flooding any lingering syntax that remains to him, slurring his words to her body's content.

* * *

In hindsight - after she returns home all disheveled, with damp panties, and the round marks of his teeth like cherries on her thigh - she realizes why the witches of old cautioned so strongly against blood magic, against allowing your essence to seep out past the boundaries of your skin.

But she's a young witch and the world is hungry.

(She breaks up with Jeremy the week after.)

And he is impossible to kill, but easy to feed.


End file.
